Glass 
Book. 




hnPQ 



Gpigiiti^? i q i Z 



CDEXRIGHT DEPOSm 



J^oems of gjentiment 



By 
ELLA MAXWELL HADDOX 




Printed for the Author by 
31enntng0 antj ^ratiam, Cincinnati, o^lftio 









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C«FnaeHT, 1912, BY 
£bL,A Maxwell Hassox. 



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^C1.A319957 



2E>ei3icateD — 

To one whose life a poem is : 
A poem rare, in which I read 

The precepts of true worth, and trace 
High thought to noble deed. 



Contents 



A Summer Evening Rain, - - - - 25 

A Protest, 29 

Discontent, 20 

Dreams, 18 

If We But Knew, - - - - - - 15 

Just Love and I Together, . - - 8 

Life Phases, 19 

Lines On Death of An Infant, - - 24 

My Choice, 31 

Questionings, 22 

Rain Fancies, 23 

Signs of Spring, 13 

Slumber Song, 21 

The Road, - 10 

To A Friend, - - 11 

The Snow-Storm, 28 

The Acorn and the Oak, - - - - 30 

To A Rose Upon My Desk, - - - 12 

To Music, 27 

Two Lives, - 26 

To Fortune, 14 

To Cupid, - - 17 

The Victim, 9 

The Leader, ------ 7 

When Fierce Winds Blow, - - - - 16 

5 



tKfje ILmhtv 



He leads, who reads the law aright, 

And thereby shapes his course; 
His purpose makes of circumstance 

An unavailing force. 
Intrenched in strength, unknown the fears 

Which lesser souls affright. 
He can not fail, who walks with Truth, 

And reads the law aright. 

He leads, who will not turn aside. 

But keeps his onward way. 
Unmindful, though about his feet 

His hopes in ruin lay; 
Who will not swerve though Patience faints, 

Though foe and friend deride. 
But keeps the path with steps serene — 

And will not turn aside. 

He leads, who works while others play; 

In whose skilled hands is wrought 
Some useful service to his race. 

With implements of Thought. 
Success is his; to him a debt 

All Nature seeks to pay. 
The great are they who greatly serve — 

Who work while others play. 
7 



fust Hotjc anb 3 tfCosetiier 

I have been journeying with Love, 
Through days of sunny weather, 

With none to stay our wayward steps — 
Just Love and I together. 

We left the world of toil and care 
To plod along the highways; 

And light of heart, and fleet of foot, 
We took the dewy by-ways. 

From tangled bowers of sun and shade 
The birds came forth to view us. 

Forsooth, we were no strangers there: 
All forms of Nature knew us. 

In gusts of perfume rich, the flowers 

A welcome stood repeating; 
And e'en the busy bee took time 

To mumble forth a greeting. 

When dusk had sunk to deeper gloom, 
And gleamed the starlight only. 

We made a fire of fragrant wood 
To cheer the silence lonely. 



And as before our hearth we sat, 

In Nature's peaceful dwelling, 
To please right well my heart's caprice 

Strange tales Love would be telling. 

Yes, many were the tales he told 
Of conquest, real and seeming, 

Till burned our fire to ashes gray — 
And darkness found us dreaming. 

/^ ^ ^ 

^te Victim 

The sport of Fortune, and the slave of those 
Who rule his life by right of sharper wits; 

The stern companionship of Toil is his, 
And Penury beside his doorway sits. 

Not life, but years, the measure of his time, 
For life is more than days by care pursued; 

And poor, indeed, existence, where for aye 
The soul must starve to give the body food. 

For him the crust of bread, the fireless hearth, 
The weary day that runs through joyless hours. 

For him the dregs of life, because the gods 
Saw fit to give him poorly-fashioned powers. 
9 



i;i)e Eoab 



Adown the long road of the past 

The moonlight stretches, wan and white; 

And mists of night lie chill upon 
This barren highway, coldly bright. 

The mournful Winds, with rustling tread, 
Sweep over it the dying leaves; 

And where the grass once fringed the dust 
The lonely cricket softly grieves. 

And as I scan the road, which now 
Through wastes of desolation lay, 

A longing fills my lonely heart 

For those who walked with me the way. 



10 



Co a Jfrtenb 



Dear friend of mine, when courage faints 

Thy faith inspires anew; 
And what, though other friends prove false, 

So I but find thee true. 

In thee I find a prophecy 

Of what I fain would be; 
And life is filled with hope, since I 

Have found a friend in thee. 

The highest attributes of life 

By friendship are employed; 
The highest form of friendship is 

By evil unalloyed. 

So thus, in naming thee my friend, 

I seek to voice thy praise. 
Oh, may the chain of friendship bind 

My heart to thine always ! 



11 



Co a i^ose Wipon Mv ©esife 

With lifted face, in sweet disdain 
Of weak complaint, or useless sigh 

For thy abode in summer bowers. 

Thou art, sweet rose, more brave than I. 

Dost thou not miss the fervent kiss 
With which the Sun was wont to woo 

Thy beauty to a deeper tint 

Than glows at morn on heaven's blue? 

Dost thou not miss the gentle rain. 

Which Night did weave with artless grace 

Into a veil of silver mist 

To softly drape thy blushing face? 

Ah, would that you and I could fly 
This fretted air of ceaseless toil ! 

In some cloud-shadowed, drowsy glen 
The busy Day's intent we'd foil. 

Where Summer breathes a sweet content, 
And all the air, with languor hung, 

Gives back the droning of the bee 
And song by idle waters sung — 
12 



There, thou, upon thy parent-stem, 

Might spend thy fragrant breath in tale 

More pleasing to my wilHng ear 
Than those crude sounds which now assail. 



^ ^ ^ 



^iQti^ of Spring 

A thrill of life awakes the listless earth, 

Whose valleys cradle still the winter's chill; 

From bending skies the flitting cloudlets cast 
Their shadowed forms athwart the quiet hills. 

On sunny slope, where Morn first sips the dew, 
And where the first wild flowers their buds un- 
fold, 

The warmth of noon-day woos the waiting spring, 
And bids the verdure pierce the lifeless mold. 

Where evening mists hang low o'er marsh and 
stream. 

The dismal frog sends forth a haunting call; 
The daylight lingers, and the hour grows late 

Ere shades of night descend to cover all. 



13 



®o Jf ortune 



Since I must walk the humbler paths of life, 
And count as naught the labors of my day; 
Since thou hast played the niggard's part with 
me — 

Take pride, also, I pray! 

Let not mine eyes behold reluctantly 

Fair work by others wrought, while these poor 

hands 
Are powerless to perform the valiant deeds 
My burning heart commands. 

Thy smile has ever coldly shone on me ; 
And vexed ofttimes my feet to find the way 
O'er which, for others, thy illumining torch 
Hath shed a guiding ray. 

But if, perchance, through numberless defeats, 
I strong should grow with power to conquer thee — 
Ah, well I know, if that day e'er should come, 
A reckoning there '11 be! 

Think not that thou couldst then withhold from 

me 
The treasures which I long have sought in need; 
I 'd wrest each gift from out thy grasping hand. 
And leave thee poor, indeed. 
14 



m We S5ut ^netaj 

If we but knew, when haste we to reprove, 
Where frailties cloak a right intent from view. 
We would forbear to chide where Nature fails — 

If we but knew! 
The strength at all times to withstand the wrongs 
Which vex our souls is given to but few. 
We would not add unto another's woe — 

If we but knew! 

If we but knew where weary hearts abide 
In loneliness to tell the long hours through, 
Would we withhold from them the cheering hour — 

If we but knew? 
Would friendship droop in coldness or neglect 
While we — alas! — in thoughtlessness pursue 
Some later joy of unfamiliar mien — 

If we but knew? 

If we but knew where fainting toilers rest 
Beside unfinished tasks, when doubts undo 
What faith had wrought in willingness and might ; 

If we but knew 
The power of worthy praise^to move again 
The nerveless hands to efforts fair and true — 
Our Strength would run to seek a brother's need — 

If we but knew! 

15 



WUn jFierce Winhi ploto 

When fierce winds charge in madcap mood 
The shadows on their Westward way; 

When, through the dusk, like twinkling stars, 
The springing lights begin to play; 

When Twilight drops from winter skies 
A purple gleam upon the snow — 

How sweet the sheltered warmth of home 
When fierce winds blow! 

Though wealth environ not with ease, 
And Hardship walk in all his ways; 

Though only simple pleasures deign 
To grace his uneventful days; 

He still is blest who finds the love 
Of wife and babes within the glow 

That plays upon his humble hearth 
When fierce winds blow. 

O woman! thine it is to make 

The home a glad, a safe retreat; 
Toward which, when bleak the storms of life, 

The World may turn with weary feet. 
Oh, may thy loved ones faring home 

Those sweet anticipations know 
Which move the steps to joyous pace. 
Though fierce winds blow. 
16 



Light thou thy hearth, and let it be 
A rival to the warmth which lies 

Upon thy tender, smiling lips 

And glows within thy brooding eyes. 

Let strength unveil in acts of love; 
Let beauty from thy presence grow; 

And thus make home a paradise 
When fierce winds blow. 



tKo €m\s 



Thou wilful sprite, whose honeyed mandates are 
A sweet compulsion none may deign to scorn. 

Thy dimpled hand doth hold relentlessly 
The destinies of nations yet unborn. 

Ah, I could dare the heights which lead to fame; 

Could dare contest the claim of kings that be; 
Could hurl defiance to the imps below, 

Or measure strength with other gods than thee. 

But stern Resolve, which often doth befriend, 
A traitor is, when thou thy bow hath bent. 

As Winter yields to Springtime's warm embrace. 
So yields my heart to thy sweet blandishment. 



17 



©reams; 

They come from regions of the past, 

Whence Fancy calls its own, 
When shadows sweep the sunlight from 

The earth, and day is done. 

Grim ghosts of what were living hopes, 

They come, a phantom train, 
To steal the gladness from the heart 

And blanch the lips with pain. 

Or, like a breath of melody. 

As sweet as buried joy. 
Illusions, which the passing years 

Are powerless to destroy. 

The vagrant breezes waft them through 

The purple-falling light, 
Whose gleams illume a pathway for 

The coming of the Night. — 

Sweet dreams! sad dreams! dear dreams, 
withal ! — 

Possessions of the soul — 
Live on till heart shall cease to beat. 

And Time my knell shall toll. 



18 



mtt ^Ijases 

The day is filled with clamorings; 

Unholy schemes 
Incite to turmoil and to strife — 

But night brings dreams. 

Ambition may a mighty claim 

By sunlight prove; 
But when the twilight shadows fall, 

We want but love. 

The beauteous spirit of the Night, 

From shadowy dell. 
From drifting mists, and murmurous 
streams, 

Comes forth to tell 

Of things eternal; and the soul. 

Transcending, too, 
Its cruder form of Nature's mold 

Delights to view 

The mysteries divine, which are 

Its own for aye; 
Leaving the lure of gold to claim 

The garish day. 



19 



discontent 



Wherefore thy song, O Poet impotent? 

Thy jugglery of words but serves to dress 
Old forms in fashions new. We want new 
thoughts — 

And of thy platitudes — oh, give us less! 

Go spread upon thy stupid page some truth — 
One little truth by none perceived before — 

For we are weary of the things we know, 

And fain would other realms of Truth explore. 

And thou, O Statesman of the insect-mind! 

Canst fit thine honors to no greater deeds? 
Of what avail thy boasted power since it 

May grant no ministry to human needs? 

From out the lore at thy command evolve 
And leave one good to thy posterity — 

One lasting benefit — and thou shall want 
No sculptured guardian of thy memory. 

Ye ministers, who walk, with pompous tread. 
With pious look, and heavenward-turning eye. 

The winding way, tell us of that fair land 
One simple fact which no man can deny. 
20 



We know not whence we came, nor whither we, 
With faltering, uncertain steps, are bound. 

With shackled feet, in pace by Custom set, 
We run Life's little, uneventful round. 



^ ^ ^ 



Sleep, baby, sleep, for the twilight is falling; 

Darkness is dimming the glow in the West. 
Hear from the woodland the whip-poor-will 
calling! 
Sweet may thy dreams be, and peaceful thy 
rest. 
Fairies are dancing where shadows lie deep; 
Hush-a-bye, hush-a-bye! Sleep, baby — sleep! 

Sleep, baby, sleep, for the Night Winds are sing- 
ing 

Over thy cradle a murmurous strain. 
List how the Leaves in a chorus are bringing 

Back through the darkness a whispered refrain. 
Happy dreams over thy weary lids creep! 
Hush-a-bye, hush-a-bye! Sleep, baby — sleep! 



21 



(©ueStioninssJ 



Thou marble brow, and pallid lips, whereon 
A smile once crept to answer Love's sweet call, 

Thou tired eyes, now veiled in Death's long sleep — 
Ah, tell me not, I pray, that this ends all! 

A few brief hours ago and Life did clothe 
This silent clay in garments of a god; 

And now we lay it where but late the feet. 

With strides of courage, spurned the lowly sod. 

But where is now the spirit, with its song 
Of joyousness, its cry of grief or care? 

We know it was, and fain we would believe 
That still it doth exist — somewhere, somewhere. 

But not within the icy clasp of Death, 

For did it there repose its warmth would move 

The pulseless heart again to vibrant life. 
Alas! this frozen form its absence proves. 

And so we choose to think unfinished Life 
Will read its purpose in some future state: 

Where we shall gather up the threads of Time 
And weave the fabric of eternal fate. 



22 



i^ain Jf ancies 

The wet Night breathes a lullaby 

As softly sweet 
As ever mother sang, to soothe 

Her babe to sleep. 

Around the open doorway, where 

The shadows loom, 
A sodden vine its perfume wafts 

Into the gloom. 

Where tangled grasses weave a web 

Of meshes light, 
A chant of insect-voices climbs 

The silent night. 

The senses swoon with languor, half 

Of joy, half pain, 
As o'er them steals the magic of 

The fragrant rain; 

And o'er the restless spirit falls, 

Like cooling balm. 
The great and changeless majesty 

Of Nature's calm. 



23 



%intsi on ©eatf) of an Snfant 

No pomp of custom need itself engage 

To sing thy praise, or fancied worth extol; 

Earth held no bonds to fix thy grasp on life, 
And leaves no trace of time upon thy soul. 

The miracle of love will ne'er awake 

Within thy heart the deadly pulse of fear; 

Nor will its sweet illusions bring thee joy 
Where Sorrow bids thee drop a ready tear. 

Why should we wish to call thy spirit back? 

Life is, at best, a gift of doubtful worth; 
Its good or ill not always ours to choose. 

But ours more oft by accident of birth. 

Who sees man's possibilities and powers 
His limitations also must perceive; 

The heart that thrills to greatest ecstasy 
Will in adversity most deeply grieve. 

To place distinction's badge upon our breast 
We sell the trust that binds us to our kind. 

We seek for fame, yet in its honeyed voice 

The flattery of coward hearts we find. 

24 



Then sleep, sweet babe — Love's promise unful- 
filled- 
Eternity a recompense may give 
For those fleet joys which light with passing 
gleam 
The years of those who Time's allotment live, 

^ /^ ^ 

^ Summer Cfaening J^ain 

The rain, before a lazy wind, 
Crept o'er the mountain's rim, 

And threw a cloud of silver spray 
Into the valleys dim. 

It moved through forest, field, and glade 

On wings of listlessness; 
It touched the shadow-freighted trees 

With lingering caress. 

And where the waters of the brook 
'Twixt fragrant meadow play, 

A host of merry raindrops danced 
The evening hours away. 

The green Earth wrapped itself in mist, 

As waned the fading light, 
And sank to dreamy slumber in 

The restful arms of Night. 
25 



^too Hibes 



Where simple living made no claim 

To chronicle of knightly deed; 
Where little hopes and little aims 

Conformed themselves to little creeds; 
Unblessed by aught which promise gave 

Of wealth, or fame, or kingly sway; 
Of peasant stock, unlearned and poor, 

Two baby boys were born one day. 

To one the passing of the years 

Contentment brought — and little more. 
Few were his wants, and few the gifts 

He took from Life's unbounded store. 
No aspirations of his soul 

Dared cleave the sky on soaring wings; 
His quiet and unthinking mind 

Attuned itself to little things. 

The other dared to question Life, 

To cast aside established creeds; 
To be, to do, to have, to hold, 

To set his mind to mighty deeds. 
Mankind may catch from history 

The dreams which burned within his soul- 
Leading him up the steep ascent 

To reach, at last, the victor's goal. 

26 



Zo JWugic 



Thou greatest of all sweet mysteries save Love, 
Through thee the soul beholds its dream ful- 
filled. 

Thy melody in sweetness is attuned 

To whatsoe'er intent the heart is willed. 

With thy triumphant tones' tumultuous blast 
I feel the rush of Life's stupendous power; 

And high resolve flames forth from smouldering 
hope, 
While mighty conquest crowns the passing hour. 

Or if, perchance, in softer moods, I stray 

Through fancied realms of thy sweet harmony, 

Where twilight shades steal out to dim the glow 
Of sunset lights upon thy golden sea — 

A sadness, born of hallowed memories, 

Comes through the gloom, and all my being fills; 

And loneliness enfolds me as the mists 
Which lie at eve upon the silent hills. 

Thou art to me the best of all I am; 

The greatest of the things I hope to be! 
Oh, would the Muse inspire to greater worth, 

That I might sing more fittingly of thee ! 



27 



The snow began when clouds hung low, 
And earth was bare and brown; 

When boding shadows filled the air, 
Through which the flakes came down 

Like Springtime's wind-blown petals fair, 
Through countryside and town. 

The wind was slow on mountain crest, 

And slept in vales below; 
It stirred the tops of distant trees, 

But breathed o'er plumes of snow 
Which formed where earthward-nodding 
shrubs 

Their branches bended low. 

And all day long, through sullen air, 

The drifting snowflakes fell. 
Till white knolls looked like wind-blown 
sails, 

And forest, field, and dell 
Were turned into a mystic world, 

In which strange forms did dwell. 

Imprisoned in their tiny cells. 
Within the trackless white, 
28 



And guarded by the shifting clouds, 

A milHon points of light 
Awaited but the Sun's command 

To burst upon the sight. 

And when the shades of eve had shot 
The snow with purple gleams, 

Which deepened into violet 
In pools of woodland streams, 

The Twilight stole into a world 
Of silence and of dreams. 



^ ^ ^ 

^ protest 



What wouldst thou more, O Tyrant? Have I not 

Upon thine altar laid an offering 

Of sleepless nights, and days of sad unrest? 

Dost feel no trace of pity, when I bring 

Thee true account of hours of tortured thought? 

Of longings which with vain insistence stir 

The heart to fruitless quest of happiness? 

Take from my wrists these chains of gossamer! 
That I may seek forgetfulness in toil; 

May join the busy days with restful nights. 
I would forswear allegiance, since thou 

Dost fashion of my woes such strange delights. 



29 



tKfte glcorn anb tlje (I^afe 

Within the damp and clinging earth, 
Where darkness spans a world unseen, 

An acorn dreamed; and, dreaming, saw- 
Blue skies and forests green. 

It dreamed of light, where all was gloom; 

It dreamed of strength, where none pre- 
vailed 
Save that which held the dream, when dark 

And threatening powers assailed. 

It saw itself an oak, whose crest 

From Morn's first blush a halo caught; 

In whose broad boughs the weary birds 
At eve a shelter sought. 

And as in hopefulness it dreamed. 
The unbelieving earth made room ; 

And, powerless to repress, did haste 
To friendliness assume. 

Thou, too, dream on, O Soul! and let 
Not things Vv^hich seem thy faith undo; 

For All of Life concerns itself 
To make thy dream come true. 



30 



iWp Cfjoicc 



I 'd rather take the trail when Morn 
O'er my enraptured spirit flings 

Her thousand subtle charms, and gives 
The touch of life to lifeless things; 

I 'd rather search in dewy glades 

To find where star-faced blossoms lurk; 

Or list the skylark's merry note — 
Than work. 

I 'd rather have a quiet cot, 

And dwell amid the friendly fields; 

Where Nature's store meets Nature's need. 
And life a sweet contentment yields; 

Where sunlight floods a world of song; 

Where free winds sweep, and buds unfold — 

I 'd rather have a home like that — 
Than gold. 

I 'd rather have the love of one 

Whose song of hope along the way 
Would cheer my weary heart, when dark 

The path through shadowed regions lay; 
Whose faith and trust would scorn to ask 
The sanction of a world's acclaim — 
I 'd rather have a love like that — 
Than fame. 

31 



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